Limbo
I have been floating in the same place for months now and my writing reflects it. Looking back at my past few blog posts, I can't help but cringe a bit. Some whiny meta-writing and a cliche-ridden entry about snorkeling.
In some ways, I think I enjoyed blogging the most when I was at the height of confessional blogging towards the end of college. Reading through my old blog posts, the ones that stand out the most are the ones with some heart, the ones that took emotional risks. Sure, those risks were often cheesy and angsty, but my introspection frequently yielded decent writing and growth.
Like I said, it wasn't always brilliant "writing" but there was an element of personal substance that has been missing of late. Perhaps I should simply embrace that cheesy, heart-on-sleeve personal writing that I started with. It is cathartic and easy, which would be good, since writing hasn't come easily of late. My will to blog has dried up quite a bit. I have been suffering from writer's block in a serious way. And not just my blog, even my long-term writing project that I have been working at fairly faithfully has gotten stuck.
If I were to lay blame, I would point to my job. Being a first year teacher is as taxing as everyone says. Mentally and emotionally. It is hard to go to a place where you are constantly battling the willpower of 18 other people in the room. It is exhausting to have them resent you for trying to help them. It is hard to love them in spite of it all. February doesn't help either. There is something about this month that is brutal for teachers and students alike. But my malaise goes back father. Sometimes I despair about how powerless my job makes me feel. Most days are alright, but there have been moments when the idea of going to work, facing my students, and doing my job have filled me with dread. For the first time in my life, there is a little bottle of anti-anxiety medication in my medicine cabinet. It is mostly full. I avoid it, for it makes me feel weak. But two little pills are missing, courtesy of an anxiety attack that also claimed my first "sick day" so far this year. My mind is too addled to write. Too tired to create. For months I have felt... "dry." Creatively and
spiritually parched and wondering where my inner-peace has gone.
I am hoping that this time of Lent will once again help me find my center. I have, as usual, given up all forms of mindless entertainment and am hoping to spur my spirit and mind with a focus on creative and intellectual searching. Lent sometimes seems to me like a kind of purgatory, wedged between the debaucherous celebration of Carnival and the humble joy of Easter. This purgatorial season seems paradoxically necessary at a time when I seem to be floating in Limbo and condemned to its numbness. Perhaps it will purge me of my inner death and breathe new life into these bones.
Who knows, some good writing may even come out of it.
Not my best work.
In some ways, I think I enjoyed blogging the most when I was at the height of confessional blogging towards the end of college. Reading through my old blog posts, the ones that stand out the most are the ones with some heart, the ones that took emotional risks. Sure, those risks were often cheesy and angsty, but my introspection frequently yielded decent writing and growth.
Like I said, it wasn't always brilliant "writing" but there was an element of personal substance that has been missing of late. Perhaps I should simply embrace that cheesy, heart-on-sleeve personal writing that I started with. It is cathartic and easy, which would be good, since writing hasn't come easily of late. My will to blog has dried up quite a bit. I have been suffering from writer's block in a serious way. And not just my blog, even my long-term writing project that I have been working at fairly faithfully has gotten stuck.
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| Dante taught us that Limbo is full of bummed writers |
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| Folks getting pulled out of Limbo |
I am hoping that this time of Lent will once again help me find my center. I have, as usual, given up all forms of mindless entertainment and am hoping to spur my spirit and mind with a focus on creative and intellectual searching. Lent sometimes seems to me like a kind of purgatory, wedged between the debaucherous celebration of Carnival and the humble joy of Easter. This purgatorial season seems paradoxically necessary at a time when I seem to be floating in Limbo and condemned to its numbness. Perhaps it will purge me of my inner death and breathe new life into these bones.
Who knows, some good writing may even come out of it.
Comments
On a different note, there is no need to feel weak when you take anxiety medication. On the contrary. You are showing strength by admitting you need some help. Take it from someone who waited too long to seek help, you don't want to go there. Protect your mental health at all costs, even if that means you need some pharmacological help. (Also, if you are amenable to it, look for alternative ways to also help reduce your anxiety. Find as many tools as you can to assist you.)